


Gunmetal

by glamorous_gryphon



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, D/s, Dom/sub, F/M, Gunplay, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamorous_gryphon/pseuds/glamorous_gryphon
Summary: Elektra experiments with a few limits.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Gunmetal

_“Blow a kiss, fire a gun, all we need is somebody to lean on.”_

* * *

The coldness of the gun was hurting her hand, colder even than the rain that hissed through the alley around them. Elektra rose above the sensations, Stick’s endurance training firmly ingrained in her mind, and then dodged the train of thought that would have her incredulous at the situation she found herself in, as Stick’s protégée, with his protégée. Embarrassment had no place here. 

Matthew was kneeling on the ground in front of her, knees curled, feet against the concrete. The rain plastered his hair darkly to his head - it had grown longer since she’d last seen him, trailing down his cheeks and clinging to the wet curve of his throat. Everything about him was exquisite, from the half-closed eyes to the slightly parted lips, to the air he gave of a man drowning in his own clothes. His hair seemed to sharpen his face, accentuating his cheekbones; that throat shifted as he swallowed, and the crucifix on his chest flashed as if taunting her. 

Elektra pressed the muzzle of the gun harder against Matthew’s forehead, and his eyes slipped fully closed.

She couldn’t remember when they’d first started this, this cat-and-mouse game, this habit of give and take. She followed him halfway across New York, vaulting over shadowed rooftops and dark skeletal stairwells. Sometimes she let him go - trailed him as a far as six blocks before letting him leave, escaping into the night like the semi-mythologised figure of shadows he had claimed. It kept things exciting. It certainly made things more interesting when she _did_ catch him, and his eyes lit up like a supernova in the dark, before he went down on his knees and begged her. It made her feel …

Well. It made them _both_ feel powerful.

During aftercare, he liked to joke his penchant for submission came from Catholicism. Elektra was inclined to agree - he certainly loved being called a sinner - but she wasn’t convinced that was the full story. It was almost sweet, really. At the end of the day, when it came right down to it, Matthew needed to be looked after, to receive care. God only knew neither of them had received much of it in their lives.

She cracked him across the face with the gun to lose that train of thought, and Matthew let out a brief, strangled cry. 

“Did I tell you to make a noise?” Her blow had pushed him further away; Elektra advanced, her breath coming fast, her fingers white coils around the gun’s grip. 

Matthew shook his head. His head had dipped now, his breath pluming in pale steam against the rain. 

Elektra surveyed her submissive, and thought. She really wasn’t in the right headspace to enter a scene, she knew this, her mind was wandering terribly. But Matthew didn’t seem to have noticed, and if it became a problem she could always end things. 

Thus assuaged, Elektra surveyed her submissive and wondered.

Matthew seemed to think that care was conditional, that it had to be earned, that he was only truly deserving of affection once he had suffered for it first. He shied away from outright attempts at affection; ducking a friendly arm over the shoulder, remaining cold and unresponsive to a kiss. Elektra wouldn’t be surprised if Matthew didn’t even realise it himself, if all the ducking and avoidance was subconscious. Matthew only truly responded when he was broken, once she had melted him down and put him back together again. It was hard to avoid affection, subconsciously or otherwise, when you were babbling and semi-incoherent from pain, after all. 

It did make pursuing any semblance of a normal relationship mightily inconvenient, having to go through all this rigmarole beforehand, but Elektra wouldn’t have it any other way. Neither of them had ever been destined for anything remotely _normal_ , anyways. 

They had always been a violent pair. 

She became aware of Matthew’s rapid breathing, and realised he must think she was deliberately pausing to amp up the tension. 

Elektra fished a throwing star out of her jacket with her free hand and traced it down his throat. A delicate tracery of red bloomed beneath the sharp edge. There wasn’t enough pressure to break the skin, but just enough to leave yet another line to join the ever-growing constellation on Matthew’s chest.

“Do you think your friends will notice these?” she whispered. “How will you explain them? They don’t know you’re Daredevil yet, what will they think of you? That you’re a masochist?” 

Matthew held very still. If he moved, they both knew the throwing star would open his throat. Elektra liked blood, but she liked keeping Matthew alive more. 

“You _are_ ,” Elektra breathed, and felt delight as savage and sweet as a fire kindle in her chest. “That’s all you are, really. That’s really all this is.” She nudged his discarded billy club with the toe of her boot, and smirked as Matthew’s mouth tightened. The shriek of metal on concrete would have wrecked hell on his heightened hearing. 

“You like that, don’t you?” she angled the throwing star to dig one of the points into the spot just above his clavicle, and watched in detached interest as a drop of red welled and burst, staining his shirt. Slowly, she dragged the star down his chest, parting the thin fabric of his shirt. “You like the thought of being exposed, you like the idea that they’ll find out. You _exhibitionist_ , Matthew.” 

Matthew’s throat shifted infinitesimally as he swallowed, but he didn’t make a sound. Not even his quick gasp of air made any noise. Elektra was impressed.

“You can talk.” She lifted the throwing star from his stomach. Before she straightened, she flicked her tongue over the blood she’d freed, relishing in the shudder she elicited.

“I’m not—“ Matthew gasped, before words appeared too much for him, and his head bowed again.

“Not what?” Elektra inquired. When he did not respond, she cracked him around the head a second time with the gun, glorying in his pained gasp. “Not _what_ , Matthew?” 

Chest heaving, bruises mottling the right side of his face, Matthew drew himself up and said, in a voice so composed and _prim_ it almost made Elektra laugh: “I’m not an exhibitionist.” 

“No,” Elektra agreed, cocking the gun, “but you _are_ a masochist, aren’t you, Matthew?” 

She fired several shots into the air, and as Matthew shrieked in pain at the noise, pressed the searing hot barrel against his bare pectoral and held it there. 

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t shriek at the hot metal. Elektra doubted anything short of disembowelment would force Matthew Murdock to truly scream. His mouth opened wide, his hands opened and closed uselessly into fists by his side, and his head lashed on the end of his neck like a serpent, but he made no sound.

Matthew’s rapid gasping breaths slowed as the barrel cooled. Elektra pulled the gun away. Her ministrations had left a ring-shaped red patch on his chest. 

“You lose,” Matthew gasped.

Elektra tilted her head to one side, thumbing the trigger guard. “And why is that?” 

“The police heard the shots,” Matthew’s breathing was ragged. “They’re on their way. Three blocks away. We can’t—” he sucked in a giant, shuddering gasp, coughed, then continued, “We can’t continue. The scene is over.” 

Elektra holstered the gun and tapped her nails against the metal, laughing as Matthew flinched.“It’s over when I say it’s over.” She stepped forward to scoop Matthew into her arms, relishing in his shuddering. He weighed so little, it was easy to scale a nearby fire escape onto the roof. 

“What are we doing?” Matthew whispered. His eyes rolled aimlessly in their sockets. “Where are you taking me?” 

“Do you have the energy to continue?” Elektra asked, walking across the terracotta roof tiles.

Matthew paused and then said, in a small voice. “Yes.”

Elektra kissed his forehead. “Good boy. And to answer your question, we’re going to your apartment.” 

Matthew shifted restlessly in her arms. “Where are we now?” 

“On the roof.” Elektra stepped forward onto another one. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice us climbing up.” 

“Can’t focus.” 

That revelation both surprised and delighted her. Matthew ordinarily would never admit to such a loss of control. 

“How far will you push me?” Matthew asked.

Elektra slowed. This was new territory. Ordinarily Matthew didn’t like to even admit being out of control, let alone experimenting with limits, which is what this sounded like. “As far as you’ll let me.” 

“Right.” Matthew chuckled weakly, and Elektra glanced down in surprise. He sighed as she gently touched the bruises on his face. “Because you haven’t hit my limit. Not even close.” 

Elektra bent her head to scrape her teeth along the edge of Matthew’s ear. “Not yet, I haven’t,” she whispered.

Her only response was a slow, wicked smirk.

* * *


End file.
